Scars in the Mirror
by Honeytrap
Summary: Even if the scars could no longer be seen, they could still be felt. Looking in the mirror doesn't always show the truth. Warning: mentions of violence, death, suicide and inexplicit rape


**A/N: This is my first ever attempt at a story so please be kind. Depending on how this goes I may write a longer sequel and possibly start on a multi-chapter fic on another fandom. Any constructive criticism will be appreciated!**

**Disclaimer: Transformers is not mine! Please do not sue! Also, I got the name Vos from another fanfic I read but can't remember the name of so credit for that goes to the author!**

**Warnings: Darkfic. Mentions violence, death, suicide and inexplicit rape. ROTF did not happen in this fic (or has not happened yet – take your pick!).**

**Rating: M (to be safe!)**

The mirror was mocking him again. It refused to show the scars. The scars on his very soul, the ones no-one else seemed to see but oh how they hurt. To them he was the joker, the sweet hearted minibot that would never think badly of anyone. But he knew the truth, he was disgusting. If the Autobots really knew what he was under the extensive repairs and replacements they would be disgusted. They would call him coward, a _freak_. He would be left alone in the shadows again, with no way of escape. Bumblebee traced the unseen mark on his chest thinking of how he had become _this_.

* * *

Things had been different before the war, before his world had ended in fire and brimstone. Vos had been a thriving community in what passed for a rural area on Cybertron and Bumblebee had been happy there. His father Throttlearm* was an energon miner, a large gruff mech with a soft side that no one outside his small family ever saw. Bee had loved his father, but he had adored his mother, Honeytrap. She was Throttlearms exact opposite – dainty, beautiful and unerringly gentle. Many in Vos joked about how Throttlearm had managed to convince her to bond with him but she would wave away their questions with a gentle smile. They had tried for so long for a sparkling that when Honeytrap found she was carrying, the entire village celebrated. They had named him Flywheel after his grandfather.

Flywheel had been the sunshine in their lives. A mischievous sparkling, with twinkling blue optics and a dark red paintjob, he had managed to get into such trouble that even his kind-sparked mother had punished him. Flywheel maintained that the only reason he got into trouble was his insatiable curiosity, however Honeytrap maintained that he had gotten it from his father who was decidedly quiet during these arguments.

Flywheels childhood had been filled with laughter and light. He had never noticed the worried looks on the adult bots faces in the street, or the way his father would hold his mother so tightly while they listened to the news bulletins as Flywheel played in his room. He didn't know that trouble had been brewing in the capital over the Allspark, didn't know that cybertronians were being to split into two factions; autobots and decepticons. The adults of Vos knew it was only time before both factions would begin to seek out energon mines to feed their followers who were soldiers in all but name.

Rumours began to reach Vos of vast battles where many bots had been destroyed, of towns being annihilated and left for dust. No-one knew whether these rumours were true but the effects were felt. Sparklings could no longer play outside the village walls and adults began carrying weapons, adding extra locks to doors and improving the wall defences.

Flywheels parents had done something else though, something they had not told anyone. They had built a false wall hiding a small room big enough for the three of them to squeeze together and hide. They had told Flywheel it was their secret and to come here if he ever felt scared, he just had to remember the pass codes. They had chosen the day his spark had split from his mothers as the numerical code, Flywheel had laughed and said he was a youngling now and would of course remember. He had not known the horrors that were to come.

It had been an orn just like any other, there had been no warning, no mercy. Vos had never stood a chance, the walls were breached in kliks. Mechs had been destroyed cleanly, one after another, and left leaking energon onto the ground. Femmes had taken longer to die, many had been forced to watch as their sparklings were deactivated, screaming with them until their young pitiful whimpers had ceased. After that, most were unresponsive as they were raped repeatedly by the laughing mechs, seeming to almost enjoy a blade being shoved through their spark chambers after the attackers were done with them.

As Vos had been stormed, Honeytrap shouted at Flywheel to run, to hide, she would follow him. She had already known it was too late for her, known that her bonded was dead and that she would soon follow. She had attracted as much attention as she could as her sparkling ran, ran back to their home, back to the room hidden behind a false wall, back to where he would be safe. Honeytrap died within a few minutes of Flywheel running, her last thought had been a prayer to Primus to look over her sparkling not knowing that he had been injured by a mech she had not noticed following him.

Flywheel ran, his exhaust struggling to cope as he dodged rubble and debris. He screamed as a mech jumped down in front of him and exposed his blades taking a vicious swipe at the sparkling. He screamed again as he felt the bite of the metal in his chest plate and knew no more.

* * *

The first feeling that came back was heaviness, an aching in his joints followed by a dim nausea. Flywheel couldn't feel any pain so moved to stand up before hissing. He had forgotten the deep gash in his chest, so deep he was incredibly lucky it did not cut a vital fuel line. He stared at his own chest, gaping and splattered with dried energon, and purged onto the ground beside him. After he had finished expelling his fuel tank, Flywheel stared at the ground with dim optics, refusing to look up afraid of what he would see.

A scream pierced his quiet reflection, a reminder that it was not safe. He had to hide, he had to go to the hidden room. His mother and father would know he was there, they would find him. He stood, disregarding the pain that burned through his processor and tried not to purge again as his vision swam. Flywheel began to limp through the debris of Vos, sticking to the shadows with an arm pressed against his chest, attempting to keep as much energon as possible. He made it to his home in what seemed like hours, the rooms had been trashed, belongings thrown everywhere and broken. Bumblebee recited the code, praying to Primus that his parents were there in the room so he would no longer be alone. The door opened on hydraulic hinges and the room was bare. Flywheels spark sank as he realised he was alone...

* * *

Bumblebee stifled a sob as he stared in the mirror, remembering how he had patched himself up with bandages, wandered through Vos after the Decepticons were gone searching for his parents. He had found his father by the breached wall lying on his front in a pool of energon, he had been among the first to die. He had wept beside his father's body and continued his search for his mother. He had prayed that he would not find her so he could pretend she was ok, that she was searching for him too. He looked for a cycle before he finally found her. She had been desecrated as she died, her parts spread across the street, ripped from her as her spark dimmed. Part of him had died then with his parents.

He had been lucky an Autobot team had found him sobbing next to his mothers mangled corpse, they had taken him in, repaired him, hidden the scars that had littered his body but he was still broken. He had ran as soon as he was able to, getting a new paintjob to make him unrecognisable, changing his name to Bumblebee in a tribute to his beloved mother and began a new life on the street in a neutral colony. It had taken many years, many street fights and much more tears before he had made his decision. He wanted revenge against those who had destroyed his home, his family and his life. After he had achieved it he would die by his own blades, he would be with his family again and finally find peace.

He had joined the Autobots and carved his own path, often wishing he could give up, he was just so tired of fighting. He had managed to avoid being badly damaged on his chest and refused any medic access to his sparkchamber. His fraught path had ended at Earth where he had found something that resembled peace. Megatron was gone, the Decepticons defeated and his family had been avenged. He had completed his only goal for his life... and yet he could not stand to deactivate his own spark as he had promised himself.

He had met friends who cared for him, cried with him, fought with him. He had a human who depended on him and a father-figure who treated him as his own. Bumblebee cared for them as much as his broken spark could. He was weak, his family would be disappointed but he could not take his own life. Bumblebee wept alone in his room for the broken sparkling he still was.

Even if the scars could no longer be seen, they could still be felt.

* * *

Note

*Throttlearm and Flywheel are both parts of an engine. I came up with Honeytrap myself

Time Units are rough but I imagine them as

Orn = one day

Kilk = 1.2 minutes

Cycle = 2 hours


End file.
